


Late Night Television

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:56:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7274380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exhausted Sherlock decides to prank call a phone sex hotline.<br/>John is more okay with this than he probably should be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Television

**Author's Note:**

> 23/06/2016: Nothing has been changed since its original publication.

John and Sherlock came home after a case completely exhausted, coming down from the adrenaline from the chase. Slamming the door shut behind them, it was a race to see who could get their scarves and jackets off first – a bit of a game they'd developed over the months. Sherlock won this time, but just barely. His longer legs made taking the stairs by twos a lot easier for him, something that John considered as cheating.

Once upstairs, John's eyes were drawn to Sherlock, who had decided to sprawl ungainly over the lounge, one arm flopping off so that his knuckles brushed the floorboards. Now that the case was over – having taken a full week to solve it – John fully expected Sherlock to crash soon. He generally couldn't stay awake for longer than two hours after wrapping up a case.

True to form, Sherlock's eyelids started to flutter, the effort of keeping them open starting to weigh down on him, becoming too much.

“Before you fall asleep,” said John, “do you want anything to eat or drink?”

There was no response other than a tiny shake of Sherlock's head. He let out a tiny sigh, relaxing to the point where it looked as if he were trying to melt his way through the lounge to the floor beneath it. If John was lucky, Sherlock would sleep for a good fourteen hours. Anything less than that and he was grumpy for days on end.

Standing in the middle of the living room, John was torn over what to do with himself. On the one hand, he wanted to brave the stairs and go to bed; on the other, he wanted to go and make himself a nice hot cup of tea, maybe have some jam on toast and watch some television in the peace and quiet. In the end, the latter won out and he went into the kitchen to make himself some tea and toast.

Minutes later when he sat down in his armchair, grabbing the remote and flipping through the television channels (making sure to turn down the volume so that it didn't run the risk of waking Sherlock, which would've been impressive because during times like this he sleeps like the dead, but better to be safe than sorry) he discovered that there wasn't much interesting to watch other than procedural cop shows, a couple of reality television shows where at least two people were crying pathetically, and adult-targeted cartoons like _Family Guy_. Rolling his eyes at the lack of variety he had, he settled on _Family Guy_.

He steadily drank his tea and ate his toast, brushing the crumbs off his shirt when he finished, his laughter more of a hum when he found one of the skits particularly funny. However, midway through the next show – something that John didn't care to learn the name of – his eyelids started to droop. He set his empty mug down, reclining on the armchair, and decided that the effort to go to bed upstairs was too great.

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he woke up to the sound of evil cackling. Startled, John sat up, wiping at his bleary eyes. Over on his own chair perched Sherlock, phone in hand, staring at the television. He looked a little manic, woken up before he was meant to. Eyes red-rimmed, the cushion he'd been lying on leaving an imprint on his left cheek, and his hair wilder than ever. Oh this couldn't be good.

“What are you doing?” asked John, wondering if he really wanted to know.

“These ads are annoying,” said Sherlock gleefully. “I'm about to do something about it.”

 _Oh no._ “Do _what_ about it?”

John glanced up at the television and his stomach dropped; it was those horrifically bad, cheap-budgeted sex hotline ads. Those had to be the very reason why children were sent to bed early in the night. As he watched, a girl writhed around on the lounge with her best 'fuck me' look and sucked on her index finger.

“Sherlock, please don't tell me you're about to call them,” said John. “Nobody calls them. Not unless they're desperate.”

“You're under the assumption that I'm calling them for sex or something,” said Sherlock, sneering at the very thought. “That is most definitely not what I'm doing.”

“Then what _are_ you doing?”

“Prank calling.”

It took a few seconds for John's sleepy mind to process what Sherlock said; when he did, his jaw dropped.

“You're – Sherlock, I don't think you can prank call them!”

“'Course I can,” said Sherlock. He dialled the number. “Watch.”

Instead of putting the phone to his ear, Sherlock put it on speaker and held it at arms length so John could hear it clearly. Well, if they were going to do this, they might as well be comfortable. John waved his hand in the air until he caught Sherlock's eye, then pointed at the lounge. Sherlock nodded and stood, racing over to the lounge with John just a few seconds behind.

The call was put through almost immediately, and a sultry female voice answered.

“Thank you for calling _Babes and Bunnies_ ,” she said. “In a couple of minutes, you'll be talking to one of our very sexy females. Please hold while your call is put through.”

“I can't believe we're doing this,” said John.

“Shh!” hissed Sherlock, pressing his index finger against his lips in reprimand. “You'll spoil the fun before it even begins!”

John fell silent, unable to believe that he was sitting here with Sherlock prank calling a sex hotline. He thought about pinching himself to see if it were real, but before he could do that another woman's voice said, “Hey, baby, what's you're name? I'm Blue Berry … I'm going make you feel so –”

“'Allo? 'Allo?” Sherlock adopted an _Indian_ accent. “Is this Village Pizza?”

John slapped a hand over his mouth to impede his laughter. Sherlock waved his hand at him frantically, grinning so hard his cheeks looked ready to split.

“Be quiet, be quiet!” he mouthed.

“W-what? No, this is Babes and Bunnies,” said Blue, sounding very confused.

“I'd like cheese pizza,” said Sherlock. He lurched forward, pressing his knuckles to his mouth, eyes closed. His shoulders shook from silent laughter.

“Sir –”

“And chicken and mushroom,” added Sherlock.

“I really think you have the wrong –”

“I said _cheese pizza_ ,” said Sherlock, and a little giggle escaped John before he could stop it. Glaring at him without any heat, Sherlock punched him in the shoulder lightly.

Blue growled impatiently. “Sir, you have the wrong number –”

“CHEESE. PIZZA. AND. CHICKEN. MUSHROOM. PIZZA,” yelled Sherlock into the speaker, as if Blue was deaf. “DID. YOU. GET. THAT?”

“This isn't funny!” shrieked Blue. “If this is your idea of a joke, this isn't funny!”

“Yes, thank you!” said Sherlock. “I look forward to cheese pizza!”

He hung up the phone.

For a good twenty seconds, both Sherlock and John were silent.

“I can't believe we just did that,” said John.

That was all it took before they dissolved into howling fits of laughter, rocking back and forth clutching their stomachs. Perhaps the prank was not as funny as it seemed to be in their exhausted states, and Blue Berry wouldn't be too pleased with them right now, that was for sure.

“Oh – oh,” gasped John, finally starting to settle down. “I – I don't want to see the bill for this.”

“Neither do I,” replied Sherlock, clearing his throat a bit.

“You're paying the bill,” said John. “This was your idea.”

“Fine.” They went quiet, until a couple of minutes Sherlock inhaled deeply and said, “It wouldn't be appropriate to say that after that I'm quite craving pizza, would it?”

John threw his head back and laughed until he thought his heart would explode through his chest, delighted when he heard Sherlock's deep laughter in response.


End file.
